Free to Love
by MuckyShroom
Summary: It takes a special sort of woman for Tig to show his sensitive side. OneShot.


This is in response to a challenge from Voracious Bitch; the Darth Sidious to my Anakin Skywalker when it comes to playing with my dark side.

_**All characters, etc from Sons of Anarchy belong to Kurt Sutter.**_

**Rated M for a reason! You have been warned.**

-o0o-

Tig quietly approached the young woman where she lay, not wanting to disturb her just yet. He wanted to take a few moments to just appreciate how beautiful she looked, to savour the calm stillness. He knew this was going to be a one night deal; such fragile innocence would never survive if he spent too long with her.

He slipped the sheet from her pale curves, letting out a breath at the perfection of her lean limbed body. Picking up a lock of the long, curling blonde hair he rubbed the soft, golden tress gently between his fingers. He ran the back of his fingers, just a whisper touch, over her collar bone, relishing the cool skin that he'd soon warm with his own heated body.

He climbed up, straddling her hips. He rested his weight on one arm as his other hand reached for her breast kneading the supple flesh and playing gently with the nipple, just enjoying the different textures. He leaned forward, rubbing his cheek against her ear. Her clean scent filled his head, so different from the cloying cheap perfumes the crow eaters favoured that seemed to coat his nostrils like glue.

"I love you." He breathed into her ear. "Don't worry baby. I won't hurt you." He whispered as his fingers trailed down her torso from her breast. He slid his hand between her thighs, slipping his fingers inside her, testing the welcoming tightness.

He couldn't wait any longer, he was as solid as rock, so hard it was painful. Kneeling up, he freed himself from his jeans, a small relief, but it was going to take a lot more to sooth the ache.

He sat back on his heels and pulled a condom and a small tube of lubricant out of the back pocket of his jeans. He slipped the condom onto his throbbing shaft and squirted a small amount of lube into his palm. He admired her laid out before him, enjoying the anticipation, as he ran his hand up and down his length. He was ready. He leant forward again and kissed her lips reverently as he gently pushed his cock into her.

He held himself still for a moment, savouring the feel of her around him, before he started to thrust in long, slow strokes. Still supporting his weight on one arm he ran his other hand over her throat, allowing his palm to wrap around the slender column and squeezing gently. He was pleased that she didn't flinch. Sometimes he liked the fighting back, the nails, the scratching, and the clawing. He relished the sense of possession, having conquered what he was taking, but not tonight, tonight was about softness.

His hand moved back to her breast. He cupped it and dipped his head to suck the nipple into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around the nub as he kept a steady pace rocking into her. He leant down again for another shot of that addictively clean scent and suddenly it was all too much; the scent, the tightness of her quim, the sheer perfection of everything. He lost control and in a few hard thrusts he exploded, throwing his head back and yelling out as the electric current of pleasure scorched through him.

He fell forward onto his elbows, being careful not to crush her. He just wanted to be close to her. He was still sheathed inside her, enjoying the peaceful closeness, the complete calm, uninterrupted by the world outside.

Tig blinked and realised he must have fallen asleep, his head pillowed on the perfect breasts. He realised the early grey dawn light was seeping in through the windows. Damn! He'd stayed longer than he intended to. If Skeeter ever found out that he'd stolen a key to the funeral home and made a copy there'd be hell to pay.

He breathed a sigh of relief that at some point during his nap he'd slipped out of the body. Being caught with his dick in a corpse when rigor mortis set in would not have been an easy thing to explain.

He'd been innocently buying a pack of smokes when he'd heard a two women talking about the young girl that had been found dead. A clear case of suicide, the empty bottle of her mother's pills had been found along with a short note. Tig had recognised the girl's name. He'd spotted her around town a few times. She had been in high school and apart from the fact that he knew Jax would have kicked his ass, he'd known that she would have been too intimidated, scared of the cut and his reputation, to accept any advances he might have made.

Being late on Saturday evening he was betting that the post mortem would be carried out on Monday morning, and he knew he had a window of around three or four hours before rigor set in.

He ran his hand tenderly over her cold cheek. Although Tig adored fucking, he never made love ever, except with the corpses, the girls and women who could never break his heart. He considered that Gemma would probably be the exception to his rule, but he'd never met anyone who measured up to her in his eyes. No one had ever come close to rivalling her beauty, strength and attitude. She was unique, a goddess atop a pedestal as far as Tig was concerned; but Gemma was also his oldest friend the respect and loyalty that bound him to the club also kept him from acting on his desires.

Tig liked variety. He liked finding the truth of women when they were naked, without the defence of their clothes, the fabric personas that they wrapped themselves in. He revelled in the challenge of pushing them to their limits, persuading them with pleasure and pain to submit to things that they would never have normally agreed to. It was rare that he went as far as he often wanted to. His brothers would recoil in disgust if they knew how far he wanted to go. He had to pay for that amount of freedom, and even then his predilections had resulted in him ending up in some sticky situations.

He didn't bother with relationships, they restricted him, denied him the opportunity to follow his whims. He could never be bothered with all the soul searching, the need to delve into every act and thought and the basic requirement of considering another persons feelings before his own. Truth be told, the sting of rejection when they left blackened his soul a little each time.

Tig got down from the gurney. He slipped the condom off his flaccid dick and tucked it and the lube into the back pocket of his jeans. He took one last regretful look at the girl, knowing that it couldn't ever be more than this one time for the two of them. The thought filled him with sour relief. He gently lifted the sheet back over her face and left the room as quietly as he'd entered it, leaving no trace that he was ever there.


End file.
